Snapshots
by CrystalOfEllinon
Summary: Prompts that caught my attention while re-watching both Rise of Cobra and Retaliation. Despite that, will all be comic-based. There be cursing inside.


_Carry this for me_

* * *

The heat was stifling. The blades of the extraction chopper stirred it, but the breeze was still a hot breeze and did next to nothing. Still, Tommy was unspeakably thankful to see it; it meant a break, some downtime, a temporary escape from the muggy, buggy hell of the Vietnam jungles.

 _Air conditioning. They have air conditioning back at base._

His uncles would have scoffed at his longing thoughts of such creature comforts. But even high summer in Japan was nothing compared to the tropical heat and humidity of Vietnam.

"Snake, cover us." Tommy's tall, quiet blond friend obeyed Stalker's order, moving up to the treeline with the M60. The rest of them broke for the chopper.

Stalker was first into the chopper. "Good to see a friendly face!" He had to yell to be heard over the racket of the chopper blades.

"Yeah, I bet." The chopper pilot looked edgy. "You boys've been out here awhile. Best get in the air, we've had reports of Vietcong in the ar…"

He hadn't even finished the sentence when chaos erupted around them.

Tommy felt the attack before it happened; the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He trusted the hair on the back of his neck, and hit the ground even as red tracer fire streaked around them. He strained his ears frantically, but couldn't hear a damned thing over the racket of the Huey.

Stalker was yelling something. Tommy wasn't paying attention.

Because across the clearing, two of those streaks of red tracer rounds had hit Snake, and his friend had gone down, falling as silently as he did everything else.

Time slowed. Stalker was still yelling at him, something about getting his ass on the chopper _right fucking now dammit leave him he's dead it's too late Tommy dammit._

 _Oh, no. Oh, no you don't._

His pack was too heavy; it would slow him down. He ditched it even as he started running. Stalker was still screaming behind him, but that was irrelevant. Tommy took a breath, let out half of it, and let instinct take over.

He strained his ears to the limit. He couldn't hear heartbeats… _dammit…_ but he _could_ hear the gunshots, and triangulate where they were coming from. He knew how fast those guns could fire, and could track how the gunners were moving and which direction they were strafing from the crack and hiss of the bullets themselves.

It was enough. It would have to be.

The locations of the gunners pegged… _and oh, good, the huey was laying down some cover fire for him, thanks boys…_ he ran, and pulled out all the stops.

A dive. He hit the ground rolling, spun, flipped back to his feet, twisted around mid-stride, zigged, dove again, spun, zagged, sprung sideways, zigged again. Bullets whined around him, but none touched him.

It would have felt good to be able to push himself to the full extent of his abilities again, had the situation been different. As it was, as fast as he could run it seemed too slow. Bullets whined around him as he spun and dodged through the field of fire. Snake Eyes wasn't moving.

 _Don't be dead don't be dead don't be dead, dammit._

And then he was there, skidding to a halt beside his downed friend. There was a good deal of blood; the man's omnipresent bush hat had been shot clean off. But he was breathing, thank all the gods; the first bullet had merely winged the side of his head. The second had punched through his shoulder, and it was that one that had dropped him.

"Tommy?" Snake Eyes' voice was vague. The bullet in his shoulder must have nicked an artery; Tommy was only too familiar with blood loss, but he had to get Snake to safety before he could do anything about it. "You shouldn't…"

"Shut up." He cut off Snake Eye's pack, discarded it, and hoisted his friend in a fireman's carry. "I need to listen. Just try and keep from bleeding out, okay?"

The dash back to the huey was more difficult, with nearly two hundred pounds of bone and muscle slung over his shoulders. But his bloodstream was probably approaching ninety percent adrenaline now, and he _was_ the scion of a ninja clan.

After a few eternal seconds, seconds where what seemed like half the Vietcong army tried their level best to unload every machine gun round in the country on him, he was back at the chopper. And there were Stalker's hands, hauling Snake Eyes aboard, and Tommy leapt up after his friend even as the chopper lifted off.

There were a few frantic minutes of triage as they cleared the treeline and hauled ass back towards base. Even as they got the bleeding stopped and Snake Eyes stabilized, though, Tommy knew that there would be questions.

He also knew that he didn't much care. Even as Stalker, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time, finally spoke.

" _Tommy, what the fuck?"_

 _Put that asshole on the ground_

* * *

"Multiple bogeys inbound. Specs check out as Joe issue fighter jets. Stay in formation, and remember; if any of you little tits turns and makes a break for it I'll shoot you myself."

"Yessir Weasel Sir."

" _Don't let them sink the tanker._ My check hasn't cleared yet this week, and the Commander's liable to get all pissy and cancel it if his pet project gets blown up."

"Yessir Weasel sir… _Branson! You've got inbound at two o'clock!"_

" _Where I don't see…"_

 _"Branson's down! We lost Branson! Where the fuck…"_

 _"_ Where'd he go? Where'd he go?"

"Bogey that shot Branson down is on you, Miller, watch your tail…"

"Where the fuck did he come from?"

"Dropped down out of the cloud, _Miller watch your ass…"_

 _"Did we lose Miller?"_

 _"Shit shit shit shit shit."_

 _"_ Engaging the rest of the Joes… _Holy fuck that motherfucker just rolled his damn jet over top of me get him off me get him off…_ "

" _Randall? Randall!"_

 _"Who IS that guy?"_

" _Ace!"_

"Weasel sir?"

"Oh, I've been _waiting_ for a rematch…"

" _Sir?"_

 _"Let's dance, old enemy. I'll put you on the ground this time, I swear it."_

 _"Fuck!"_

 _"Fuck!"_

 _"Fuck!"_

 _"Did you see that?"_

 _"I didn't know you could make a fighter DO that…"_

 _"Doyle, you've got a bogey coming in above you, keep sharp boys…"_

 _"I've got him, I've got him…"_

 _"God damn, the boss can make that bird dance, I didn't know…"_

 _"So can the other guy."_

 _"Two below you, Olsen."_

 _"I see 'em."_

 _"…."_

 _"…"_

 _"Boss! He clipped your fuel tank, you're leaking!"_

 _"Just a few more seconds…come on you son of a bitch, hold still…"_

 _"Boss, I see flames…you've got to eject!"_

 _"DAMMIT."_

 _"Where'd he go? Where'd he go?"_

 _"I lost him, he looped back up into the cloud cover after he strafed the boss's bird…"_

 _"OLSEN ABOVE YOU."_

 _"Wha…"_

 _"DAMMIT."_

 _"BOSS YOU'VE GOT TO EJECT."_

 _"ACE YOU SON OF A BITCH I JUST GOT THIS BATCH OF RATTLER PILOTS BROKEN IN."_

 _"The boss has ejected…DOYLE WATCH YOUR ASS…"_

 _"FUCK..."_

 _Collateral Damage_

* * *

The most infuriating thing about General Clayton Abernathy, General Crowther reflected, was that it was nearly god-damned impossible to make the man sweat.

(Also the fact that Abernathy had more citations than Crowther himself, and wore _every. God. Damned. One._ To every meeting like this that the Jugglers called. Crowther squinted, and scowled; was that _another_ Bronze Star? God dammit…he hadn't heard about that one…and that Purple Heart was new too… _)_

He eyed the report in front of him. Flipped a page. Folded his hands on the table and fixed Abernathy with the very best withering glare that twenty years in the military could teach a man.

Abernathy met his eyes without blinking. He knew full well, of course, why they were all here, and he still didn't so much as flinch. _Bastard._

"Fifty seven million dollars." Crowther said flatly.

"Fifty seven point eight." Abernathy folded his own hands, leaned his elbows on the table.

"The Pentagon is crawling up my ass for this, Abernathy. I've half a mind to throw you to the mercy of the press."

"Mmmm." Still unimpressed. "I'm sorry, Crowther, but what exactly about my team publicly thwarting a major terrorist attack is supposed to indict me?"

" _The part where it leveled half a town._ Fifty seven…sorry, fifty seven _point eight…_ million dollars in damages, Abernathy. Civilians displaced. There were _casualties. Civilian casualties._ The press is having a field day over why this wasn't prevented."

"Prevented?" There it was, the glint in those gimlet-sharp eyes that rubbed Crowther wrong every time he saw it. "It could have been, certainly. If, perhaps, Washington had listened to me when I advised against recognizing Cobra island as a sovereign nation, and listened to me again when I warned them that there were missile instillations under construction there." He leaned forward slightly. "As it is, my team safely extracted all but ten of the civilian population, and managed to prevent a great deal of further damage."

Technically, Abernathy's team had done _that_ by violating Cobra Island's borders and conducting a series of tactical strikes that had disabled three missile silos. Crowther didn't mention that part, because, dammit, the man _was_ right about that part.

"As it is." Abernathy sat back in his chair. "I have one hundred and two civilians lined up and willing to testify how the actions of my team saved hundreds of lives and mitigated property damage." A slight little quirk to the side of his lips; Crowther ground his teeth. "And several very print worthy images ready to run on the covers of the New York Times, Newsweek, and ten or twelve other major newspapers and magazines. My personal favorite is the one with my First Sergeant carrying a dog out of the rubble of an apartment complex."

Crowther's eye twitched. "You're a smug bastard, Abernathy."

"That's very kind, Crowther." Abernathy pushed his chair back and stood. "Are we finished here?"

 _Asshole. "_ I swear to God, Abernathy. Sooner or later, you _will_ slip up."

"Goodbye, Crowther. Always a pleasure."

* * *

Prompt origins;

 _Carry this for me;_ This came from the part in Rise of Cobra where Not!Rip hand the warhead case off to another soldier. Made me think of the part in the comics where Storm Shadow saves Snake Eyes during an extraction gone bad in Vietnam.

 _Put that asshole on the ground;_ Yelled during the fight scene where the warheads are stolen. Made me think of the long-standing rivalry between G.I. Joe fighter pilot Ace and Cobra mercenary pilot Wild Weasel.

 _Collateral Damage;_ Fairly evident during the Paris scene.


End file.
